When I’m too hot I wear a jacket; when you’re too cold I warm your hands. I leave pale halos where I linger, then vanish at the rinse. They call me a face, though I am not one.

I spring from a box with a laugh or a crack, I lift up your car when the road fights back. I deal out the cards and I plug in the sound, Guess who I am, in all forms I’m found?

I’m a small jaw at rest on a desk, fed slender rations of silver. Press my back and I forge a bridge, two loose wanderers now bound together. Starve me, and I only bite the air.

I make it easy to squirt in all the right places, but I am not made of flesh. You might see me in the backyard or garden .

You tap, I glow as a tiny sun, I hold your secrets and shame. You say you’ll quit me: sure, that’s fun Then you use me just the same.